


all bound by destiny

by delightwrites



Series: nonsensical stories of a humble bard and his witcher [2]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Ciri Has Two Dads, Family Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Found Family, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Idiots in Love, M/M, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Protective Jaskier | Dandelion, Slow Burn, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Soft Jaskier | Dandelion, also features The Apology, but only briefly, but the focus is on the sweet family fluff moments, i had a blast writing this, post-show!canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-10
Updated: 2020-03-10
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:06:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23092297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/delightwrites/pseuds/delightwrites
Summary: "Ciri sighed with relief as they stepped through the door, immediately taking in the warmth of the inn but Geralt stood frozen in the doorway.The sweet cheerful music of a lute was joined by a singing voice. A voice the witcher knew so very well."-geralt and ciri run into jaskier at an inn. this means two things: 1) a young princess now has two dads and 2) a witcher and a bard slowly realise their feelings for each other
Relationships: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: nonsensical stories of a humble bard and his witcher [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1659697
Comments: 38
Kudos: 535





	1. paths crossing

**Author's Note:**

> this can be read as a sequel to my previous work, the story is this, but it stands alone
> 
> all of it kind of sprung from a conversation with my little brother, actually. no beta, no fact-checking, we die like men.
> 
> hope you guys like it!

The storm breached on and the rain was heavy. It soaked through their clothes and it didn’t seem to plan on stopping anytime soon. The town’s inn seemed to be crowding and Geralt could only hope there would still be a room left for them and he would still have enough coin left to pay for it. As he helped Ciri get off Roach’s back, he saw the girl look towards the building with anticipation. There was the smell of bread and stew and ale and the sound of hearty chatter and music sweeping out from inside.

Ciri sighed with relief as they stepped through the door, immediately taking in the warmth of the inn but Geralt stood frozen in the doorway.

The sweet cheerful music of a lute was joined by a singing voice. A voice the witcher knew so very well.

Jaskier didn’t notice them entering, all too absorbed in his music. It was probably for the best, after everything Geralt had said to him months ago, on that day on the mountain.

Geralt put a hand on Ciri’s shoulder, steering the girl towards the door.

“What-” she began, anxiously rubbing her hands together, her eyes searching the room for any sign of danger, anything that could mean they had to leave so hastily. Her hair stuck to her forehead from the rain and her blue cloak clung heavily on her narrow shoulders. Geralt sighed. He was prepared just then to leave the inn, perhaps the town and spend the night on the road. But it wasn’t just him now. Ciri was there too, tired and soaked to the bone and she needed a proper meal and a good night’s rest.

The witcher glanced up from the girl and to the other side of the room, where Jaskier was playing and that was the moment the bard decided to look their way. His eyes met Geralt’s and a dozen different emotions flashed through them. His voice fell flat, fingers slipping on the strings for a split second before he gathered himself together and tore his eyes off Geralt. No one around him seemed to notice anything.

Geralt took in a sharp breath, averting his gaze and he headed for the table in the corner, the furthest away from where the bard was playing, and Ciri followed him. Jaskier’s singing continued and Geralt tried not to think about how something about it felt off.

They were eating, the soup still steaming hot in front of Ciri, the bread warm in Geralt’s hands. He wasn’t sure how long they’d have to go until they could have their next meal like this but he didn’t want the girl worried. She seemed to be content now, loosening up gradually as the warm meal filled up her stomach and her cheeks regained their rosy colour. She kept shooting poorly-disguised glances towards Jaskier, Geralt noticed.

“Who is he?” she asked after a while, with voice full of curiousity.

“Who?” Geralt grunted as if the girl’s question hadn’t been obvious.

“The bard!” Ciri lowered her voice and leaned closer conspiratorily. “You know him, don’t you? Who is he? A friend?”

“Eat your soup.”

Ciri pulled a face. She was about to argue but was cut off by Jaskier who stood by their table. Geralt hadn’t even noticed he’d stopped singing.

The bard stood there and stared at Geralt for seemingly endless seconds before he took a deep breath and pulled out the chair next to Ciri. He gave her a polite nod before sitting down and setting his lute by his side.

Another deep breath as he tried to gather his courage.

“So we’re just gonna ignore each other?” he asked quietly.

Geralt didn’t look him in the eyes. He couldn’t, not after how they parted ways. The witcher had regretted it, all of it. The dragon hunt, the way he’d treated Yennefer, the things he’d said to Jaskier, it was all wrong.

“Isn’t that what you want?” he spoke in a low voice.

“What? I-” Jaskier mumbled, furrowing his brows. “Geralt, I… no…”

Geralt looked at him finally.

“Are you alright, Geralt?”

The question shocked him. He knew what Jaskier was seeing as he studied his face. His white hair still wet and dirty, the dark circles under his eyes, the proof of restless nights and the injury he was still healing from. He certainly couldn’t have been a pleasant sight but Jaskier’s voice spoke of worry and nothing else.

“Are you?” the witcher asked instead of giving an answer.

It was a genuine question but Jaskier just laughed. It wasn’t his usual laugh, it was quiet and bitter and it wasn’t anything like the Jaskier Geralt knew.

“I don’t know what I was thinking...” he shook his head. “You don’t want me around, I know, you made it clear already. And I understand-”

He was standing up now, pushing his chair back as he rose and Geralt felt just as he had months ago, when he’d realised the sun went down on him and he was alone on the mountaintop.

“Jaskier, wait-” he blurted and he reached out to grab the bard’s hand, to stop him from leaving.

He looked back at him with wide eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Geralt said, wondering why it wasn't the first thing he'd done the moment he saw Jaskier again.

The bard stopped, not moving a muscle but Geralt could feel his pulse racing under the skin of his wrist. He didn't shake the witcher's hand off his.

"Sorry for what?" he asked after a sharp breath, frowning.

"For that day on the mountain," Geralt began, not caring to stop the words flowing out of him now, nor to let go of Jaskier's hand. "For the things I said back then. They were wrong. I was wrong. And I wasn't exactly the best travelling companion- "

Jaskier sank back on the chair, shaking his head weakly.

"Or the best… friend," Geralt finished. Jaskier pulled his hand back and the witcher let him.

"Damn right, you weren't," he admitted, rubbing his eyes and looking dangerously close to tearing up. But there was a small smile playing on his lips and Geralt took it as a good sign.

"But you know, you could prove otherwise," Jaskier continued with a chuckle. "That is, if you and the young lady don't mind me tagging along for a while."

Geralt blank slowly. He made his apology but not because he expected forgiveness. He didn't. He didn't expect Jaskier to accept his apology, to join him again just like he always had. It didn't make sense.

Seconds passed without any of them knowing what to say.

"We wouldn't mind some company," Ciri spoke up for the first time since Jaskier arrived at their table. She must have taken pity on the two men struggling with their words and Geralt was secretly grateful for her.

Jaskier glanced at Geralt, fidgeting with his fingers while waiting for his answer. Ciri raised an eyebrow. The witcher nodded slowly.

Jaskier nodded too, his smile reaching his eyes, and it made him look much more like the Jaskier Geralt remembered.


	2. old ways and old songs

"Here, hold it this way," said Geralt, showing the girl his own hand.

Ciri nodded, copying him gripping the hilt of his dagger perfectly. Her weapon was smaller but it was Geralt's spare one, the one he'd kept in the saddlebag before giving it to Ciri. The girl's eyes had lit up when Geralt handed her the gift and offered to teach her how to use it.

She smiled rarely and didn't speak often. The times she did must have been truly special. For a while after their paths crossed, Geralt and Ciri had spent their days in relative silence - now they had Jaskier to fill it up, and that felt strange and familiar to Geralt at the same time. But Ciri seemed to take a liking to the bard and Geralt was relieved.

He was a witcher. He could protect the girl, he could teach her how to protect herself. But she was human and she was a princess. Or had been one. Either way, Ciri grew up in a castle, in the great city of Cintra, among _humans_. And Geralt saw how she clinged to her blue cloak - the only thing left from her home that Geralt simply couldn't tell her to throw away, even if it drew all kinds of unwanted attention on their journey - and he saw how she drew closer to crowded inns, to busy marketplaces. Right now, Jaskier must have been the closest thing she had for the ways of her old life. And Geralt was relieved he was there.

And perhaps, he was happy too, because _perhaps_ he had missed his- the bard.

They'd set their camp early to leave time for training. Jaskier agreed it was a good idea, reminding everyone he was the only one who had to walk, in that fussy way of his that wasn't actually serious.

He busied himself by collecting wood for the fire while Geralt and Ciri trained and holding one-sided conversations with Roach. The mare had been happy to see him, Geralt remembered. A curious thing, since she never liked too many people other than her master.

Geralt sighed. For the most part, it seemed like - and felt like - Jaskier and him were back to their old ways of travelling together.

But even if it'd been Jaskier himself who approached them at that inn, who asked to join them, who _forgave_ Geralt - and not for the first time - the witcher couldn't help but warn himself at every turn that Jaskier wouldn't stay. _For a while_ , he had said.

"Geralt?" Ciri's voice made him realise he got distracted. He'd told her to practice stabbing and slicing movements and she'd been repeating them since then.

Geralt nodded.

"Good," he said. The girl was a natural and a fast learner.

"Jaskier, come here," Geralt called out.

The bard's head perked up.

"What is it?" he asked, standing up.

"I want to show Ciri where to stab," Geralt explained.

"You want to _stab_ me?!" Jaskier gasped dramatically.

Geralt rubbed his forehead.

“I don’t think even that would make you shut up, so no.”

Jaskier crossed his arms and pouted. Anyone would think a man his age would be old to be pouting, but Jaskier made it work.

"Jaskier, you won’t get hurt. Come here," Geralt said with a sigh. "Please."

The bard let his hands fall to his side and shrugged, trying to look casual. He was betrayed by that little glimmer in his eyes that gave away his bright mood. He walked over to Geralt and Ciri.

“Alright, here I am!” he said, putting his hands on his hips.

Geralt hummed and took Ciri’s right hand in his own.

“If anyone attacks you,” he spoke to the girl. “They will probably be bigger than you, like Jaskier...”

“Excuse me, do I look like I would attack our Ciri?” Jaskier interrupted and that made the girl crack a smile.

“You don’t,” she laughed. “You don’t look like you could attack anyone.”

Geralt only added a soft hum. He went on to show Ciri the best spots to attack with her blade, explaining the damage she could do, sometimes looking up at Jaskier’s eyes.

“You know,” Jaskier chattered on after a while. “It isn’t true that I couldn’t attack anyone. It’s not fair! I did fight those assholes at that inn, remember, Geralt?”

“You were drunk at the time,” the witcher corrected him calmly.

“Then what about that monster I fought?” Jaskier pressed.

At this point Ciri squinted up at Geralt in disbelief. Geralt shook his head.

“The one you hit with your lute, then ran away and hid in a cave until I came to save your ass?”

The bard took a deep breath but it seemed like he was out of comebacks.

“You have to admit, it was at least a little bit heroic,” he added after a few seconds, while Geralt was making sure Ciri held the dagger correctly.

“You should just stick to singing,” the witcher replied, not looking up at him.

“Oh!” Jaskier gasped. “Are you saying you like my singing?”

Geralt growled and glared at him.

“Well, well,” Jaskier shook his head, even though he knew very well that Geralt’s negative attitude towards his singing was more out of habit than anything else. “Looks like the princess and I are the only ones around here who appreciate the fine arts. And Roach.”

Roach neighed and Geralt could have sworn her tone was _agreeing_. Ciri just raised an eyebrow.

“I never said I liked your music,” she said.

Jaskier looked properly taken aback. He stepped back, drawing in a sharp breath.

“Great Melitele, why must I suffer in such woeful company?” he said, exaggerating by placing a hand on his chest dramatically.

“Gods, Jaskier, she’s not serious,” sighed Geralt who could see through Ciri’s words.

“You aren’t?” the bard snapped out of his performance in the blink of an eye.

Ciri shook her head.

“I never heard any of your songs,” she shrugged. “Well, some when we met. And some sung by other bards back home. How would I know if I like them, then?”

“Oh, it’s just that?” Jaskier threw his head up and laughed. “We can help that, princess!”

He strode back to their campfire, dropping down on the ground and taking his lute in his hands.

“Any particular requests?” he squinted up at his audience of two.

Geralt didn’t react much. He’d heard all of Jaskier’s songs before, more times than he could keep track of, he didn’t need to hear them again. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to listen and give the bard a deathly glare here and there to warn him to change his particularly lewd lyrics before singing them in front of Ciri.

“The coin song, please,” Ciri asked.

“Excellent choice, Cirilla!” Jaskier grinned at her, strumming his instrument. “Truly one of my greatest pieces… _When a humble bard, graced a ride along, with Geralt of Rivia_ -”


	3. the delicate craft of hair-braiding

"Hey" Jaskier cried out as a branch hit him in the face unexpectedly. "Stupid tree, this is… ouch… Geralt!"

Geralt growled in annoyance. The bard had stopped singing when they arrived in the forest, strapping the lute on his shoulder to use both hands to fight through the bushes, but that didn't mean he kept quiet.

Really, Ciri hadn't heard him shut up for more than five minutes - and that must have been a personal record of some sorts. She didn't mind much, some of Jaskier's stories were interesting, the others were pure nonsense, but of the fun kind.

She followed Geralt, struggling through the weeds and branches, not paying much thought to the complaining bard behind her, when she was forced to stop. Something pulled on her hair and she let out a small yelp. Slowly turning her head, she realised it was just a shrub, strands of her hair getting caught on its thorns.

"Wait up, princess," Jaskier called immediately as he noticed her situation. He closed the distance between them and he began to untangle the girl's hair.

Ciri's hair was free soon and she went on to follow Geralt, who was waiting for them at a clearing. He tied Roach to a tree and was already looking for wood for the fire, leaving no room for doubts or arguments to set up their camp for the night here. Ciri and Jaskier caught up with him, the girl mumbling a quiet _thank you_ to the bard.

"Oh, it's nothing," he shrugged. Then he got an idea. "Hey, would you like me to braid it for you? I'm good at it! And your hair wouldn't get in the way then! Trust me, my braids are great, some would even say spectacular!"

Ciri hesitated but gave him a shy nod eventually.

"Oh wonderful!" the man radiated from excitement. He sat down on a log and patted the ground in front of him. Ciri sat too, her back facing Jaskier. As he began combing through her hair with his fingers, working steadily but gently, he kept on chattering.

"You know, I used to braid my sisters' hair too. That's where I learned it, I have four sisters. Four, can you imagine? Four little girls, all wishing they were princesses and nagging me to make their hair! _Julian please_ ," he changed his voice to what Ciri guessed was supposed to be an impression of a young girl. The change of the bard's name didn't escape her attention either. _Jaskier_ , that meant some kind of flower. From the moment they met him, Ciri had found him odd but sweet, and the fact that he _chose_ such a name for himself was only further proof of that.

"It's not that I mind, not at all," the bard continued as he divided Ciri's locks into separate parts and began weaving them together. Geralt had set up the fire and was working on lighting it up but he kept an eye on the two of them, a half-smile hiding on his face. "I liked doing it. For my sisters and later, lovers and friends too. You know, braiding hair is a bit like weaving the sweet sounds of a song together, though I feel this metaphor isn't quite fit to be a great ballad…"

Ciri giggled. She hadn't laughed much, hadn't even smiled much since the day her home was-... since she left Cintra, but Geralt had an amusing - no, ridiculous - habit of talking to his horse and Jaskier said funny things and the girl's heart felt lighter at those times.

"Almost ready, just need to tie it… Geralt, could you?" The bard extended his arm and - to Ciri's surprise - the witcher handed him a thin strap of leather immediately. He didn't ask anything, didn't even think about it, as if giving Jaskier a hair tie when he asked for it was something he'd done a thousand times before. The girl wondered if it meant what she thought it meant.

"Aaaand, here you go!" Jaskier leaned back and bit his lip as he observed his creation. Ciri reached back to feel it and pulled the braid to the front. It was tight, simple and practical but still pretty. It'd been ages since someone braided her hair. Back at home, they’d put it into all kinds of elaborate braids, complete with ribbons and everything. It’d never been her favourite but now she was realising how much she was missing it. She missed the little things from her old life but times like this, when her new family made her feel happy and warm and _safe_ , she didn’t mind it so much.

"Thank you," she said with a genuine smile.

"You're welcome," Jaskier offered with a bow of his head. "Geralt, what do you think?"

"Hmm," said Geralt and nodded approvingly.

"Pity there aren't any flowers around this time of the year," Jaskier added with a frown. "They would look lovely in your hair. Blue flowers perhaps, like cornflowers. Or yellow ones, those are always nice-"

"Jaskier," Ciri interrupted him, tugging at his sleeve. She had a fun idea. "Could you teach me too?"

"What, to braid hair? Oh, of course!" the man exclaimed dramatically. He winked at Ciri. "But we need someone with long hair, someone to help us demonstrate the ways of this delicate craft…"

They both looked at Geralt, Ciri barely resisting a wicked grin sitting out on her face, Jaskier's eyes wide with excitement.

"No," the witcher said.

"Oh come on, Geralt!" Jaskier threw his arms up in a wild gesture. "It's not like I haven't done your hair before! Let me braid it, just this once! For the kid! Please, Geralt!"

The witcher growled at him.

We would match, Ciri thought. It was an amusing thought.

"Just this once," she said quietly, solemnly. And then she added, "please."

Geralt rolled his eyes.

"Fine," he said finally, with an exasperated sigh.

Ciri grinned. Jaskier clapped his hands in joy. And then they got to work.


	4. the girl in the woods

Jaskier was determined to finish this ballad now, no matter how late it was or how tired he was getting or how difficult it was getting to see the pages of his notebook by the flickering light of the slowly dying fire.

Across from him, on the other side of the small clearing, Geralt and Ciri were sleeping. The little princess was curled up by Geralt's side, his arm laid protectively over her shoulder. Both of them had their hair in braids.

Jaskier smiled.

He put down his quill, forgetting about his ballad. He watched them in silence, he watched Ciri's fingers grab the fabric of her cloak in her sleep, he watched Geralt's chest rise and fall slowly, four times too slowly.

It was a familiar thing, Jaskier felt, like he'd lived this night many times before, like he'd watched over the girl and his- the witcher in their sleep. And that wasn't completely untrue, no, but of course Ciri hadn't been there with them before. And yet, her addition to their team of two felt as natural as the coming summer bringing light rains and it was easy for Jaskier and Geralt to fall back into their old routines with the little princess around.

So things were more or less like they had been before. Geralt hunted monsters, Jaskier played songs. He wrote new ones too and returned to the old ones about the witcher, his popular songs that got them the most coin. Before their paths crossed again and Jaskier got to join Geralt and Ciri, he’d sworn never to sing of the White Wolf again. But he did now, in inns and taverns and on the road too as he walked behind Geralt, Ciri and Roach and his heart felt lighter than ever.

Something stirred in the night now. Jaskier narrowed his eyes and looked around the clearing, squinting into the dark.

It was Ciri, just Ciri. Jaskier frowned. The girl woke up with a gasp, as if trying to catch her breath and tore herself away from Geralt’s arm. Her sudden movement woke the witcher immediately.

“Ciri,” he spoke in a hoarse voice, his eyes scanning for any sign of danger. But they were alone in the forest. “What is it?”

“Nightmare, it seemed like,” offered Jaskier. He looked at Ciri and spoke in a soft tone next. “That was it, right?”

The girl nodded.

“Are you alright?” Geralt asked her, sitting up straight.

Ciri gave him no answer but it wasn’t like they couldn’t tell it themselves nevertheless. The girl was shaking.

Jaskier swallowed hard. Nightmares were nasty things and his nightmares or Geralt’s nightmares were one thing, while this was another. Ciri was a kid, for the gods’ sake.

He fished out the waterskin from his bag and walked over to the girl.

“Here, drink some,” he whispered, crouching next to her on the ground. “It’s just water, don’t worry.”

By the time she was finished with it, Geralt was there too. And somehow, he seemed smaller, and not only because he was also crouching down. Maybe it was the worry that clouded his features. A strand of his hair broke loose from the braid Jaskier and Ciri had worked so hard on and was now hanging in his face.

“Ciri…” he started hesitantly. Jaskier wanted to help but he had no idea what to say. In fact, out of the two of them, Geralt was the more experienced when it came to helping someone with nightmares, Jaskier didn’t find himself in such situations too often.

“Ciri, you are alright,” the witcher started again and reached out to lay an arm around the girl’s shoulder. Jaskier nodded. “You’re safe.”

"They were coming… the-they were coming after me-"

There were tears in the girl’s eyes. She let Geralt pull her closer and snuggled up close to his side.

“They can’t hurt you now, I’m not letting them. I’ll keep you safe, Ciri,” his voice was a low hum, deep and comforting. For a split second, he glanced at Jaskier.

“We’ll keep you safe,” the bard added, even if maybe he shouldn’t have.

It was easy to fall into the old routines, too easy. Jaskier had forgiven Geralt and followed him and now he couldn’t help himself, his foolish heart, he couldn’t help feeling this was to be his place forever.

Another part of him knew it wasn’t. Geralt and Ciri let him stay _for a while_ but it was only a matter of time before they grew tired of his company. But Jaskier tried not to think too much about how long he had before that'd happen.

He was too fond of the girl and he was too fond of the witcher. No, _damn it_ , he loved the witcher. His witcher.

He loved him too much.

Ciri fell asleep again soon, with Geralt watching over her. And Jaskier did too when his racing thoughts calmed finally.

He knew he loved Geralt, of course he did. Maybe some part of him always had known, from the very first second he spotted him brooding at the corner table in that tavern in Posada. But now he also knew something else. That he loved him too much to walk away from him again. That he would stay by his side for as long as he could.


	5. a witcher, a princess and a bard walk into a bar

They weren't sitting at the corner table like Geralt used to. It wasn't his fault, as soon as he got clean and was wearing clothes that weren't covered in mud and blood, he got shoved down at the closest table by the inn's owner. The villagers were gathered around, all curious about how the witcher hunted down the werewolf that'd been sulking around in the nearby forest. Geralt refused to share any details and the innkeeper shooed away the crowd, laying down a set of trays and jug of ale in front of the witcher and his travelling companions - on the house. Geralt nodded with a hum, Ciri thanked the innkeeper and Jaskier began showering the whole village in grateful compliments.

So they were sitting at the centre table of the inn and enjoying the free meal. Geralt was preoccupied by his jug of ale when he noticed the group of men entering the inn. They wore dirty cloaks and were obviously not trying to hide the knives and various other weapons they were carrying.

And the glances they kept shooting Geralt's way definitely meant trouble.

"What the fuck were you thinking, Noren?" one of them, who was wearing a filthy beard, hissed to the innkeeper. "Allowing _that_ to set foot in here?"

"I allow who I want in my inn," said the man with shrug, not even looking up from wiping some mugs clean.

The bearded man turned to the table where Geralt and the rest were sitting and his companions followed him.

"Hey," their apparent leader called out to the witcher. "Yeah, I'm talking to you! What are you doing in here, mutant? This is a decent inn, not a freak-show!"

Geralt didn't even react. Not like he hadn't had it worse before. But he noticed how the mug in Jaskier's hand stopped frozen in the air and Ciri's eyes narrowed, that little angry frown of hers appearing between her brows.

"Do you understand what I'm saying, witcher?" The man with the beard slammed on their table. "We don't want you around here!"

"Well, that's too bad," Geralt answered calmly. "You see, I was invited."

"In-invited?" one of the group cackled.

"No one in their right mind would invite you and you know that," said their leader. "You are lying, you filthy mutant. I'll show you-"

"Enough!" Jaskier's mug was slammed down on the table, spilling ale everywhere.

The bard stood up, his fists clenched tightly and he positioned himself in front of Geralt.

Geralt frowned. He knew the thugs were just trying to provoke him and that was exactly why he didn't pay them much attention regardless of how much their words stung. He didn't let himself be provoked because he wasn't an idiot. Which couldn't be said about his bard.

"Jaskier-" Geralt started but the other just shook his head.

"No, Geralt, it's enough, I've heard enough." He put one hand on his hip, furiously gesturing with the other one, even pointing with his finger for emphasis. "You saved this entire village from that werewolf and for what? For these gigantic shit-eating idiots to come and-"

The bearded leader pulled out a rusty knife from his belt and Jaskier's voice fell flat.

"Oh, did I interrupt you, bard?" He asked. "Do go on, please, we all want to hear what more you'd like to say."

"He says you should fuck off."

The sharp voice now joining in belonged to Ciri. The girl stood up too with her dagger in her hand.

Geralt blinked.

"Oh oh, she's right, that's exactly what I wanted to say," laughed Jaskier.

The rest of the thugs pulled out their knives as well. Geralt wanted to move or at least say something because Ciri readied her weapon, glaring dangerously at the bearded man despite barely coming up to his elbows and Jaskier was rolling up the sleeves of his elegant red doublet and Geralt didn't _ask_ them to do this and it was dangerous, but he just sat frozen in his place.

He stayed like that, staring at Jaskier and Ciri, barely registering the innkeeper and the rest of the guests gathering around their table. Being so hugely outnumbered finally convinced the thugs to give in and leave. Someone bought Geralt another ale and said "master witcher, this one's on me" and all he could do was nod.

Ciri put away her dagger and started a slice of apple pie. Jaskier slid back down on his chair with a sigh.

"Kind of a pity those cowards left, I would have liked to show them a thing or two," he began then he gently tucked Geralt's arm. "Geralt? Everything okay?"

The witcher hummed. His voice was hoarse when he finally spoke.

"You didn't need to do that."

"Geralt, I... " Jaskier started. Geralt’s words came out harsher than intended and the bard seemed to take this as a sign he’d screwed something up. He'd never seemed to mind that in the past, but he was more careful with his words nowadays, as if afraid to be sent away again for saying the wrong thing at the wrong time. "I just-"

"'Course we did," Ciri interrupted with her mouth full of pie.

Jaskier let out a sigh of relief and nodded enthusiastically.

Geralt swallowed. He wasn't used to people standing up for him and now a whole village did exactly that. A whole village. And Ciri. And Jaskier. Geralt didn't understand.

He was left wondering even as someone walked up to their table and asked Jaskier to play something. The bard was more than happy to oblige and soon, as the sunny afternoon slowly turned into a humid evening, there was a whole party going on in the inn. The village folk returned from their work for the day and gathered in there to eat, drink and dance. Some brought along their children and the gang of kids around Ciri’s age with flowers in their hair soon invited the girl to join them as well. Ciri seemed to enjoy their games and the kids were all mesmerized when she showed them her dagger and told stories of the places she’d seen.

She was in the middle of a tale about the mysterious Brokilon forest, Geralt heard, when a couple of the smaller girls disappeared and returned with a crown weaved out of yellow and blue flowers. Ciri gasped when she saw the gift.

“You’re a princess!” Her new friends placed the crown on her head with an excited squeal.

“Pretty,” the smallest kid nodded.

Ciri seemed at loss for words.

“Thank you,” she whispered finally. She looked up at Geralt uncertainly but there was a smile on her face. And in her eyes, a soft glimmer of happiness.

Suddenly and unexpectedly, since he didn't know where it came from, but Geralt wished he could keep her like this forever, keep her smile and her happiness in the face of the darkness that waited for her out there in the world.

Then Ciri came back to their table and slid back on her chair across from Geralt.

“What do you think?” she asked, beaming.

Geralt answered after a few seconds of silence.

“Jaskier was right.” He nodded. “The blue and yellow flowers... they suit you.”

Ciri cocked her head to the side. Then she turned to watch Jaskier spin around between two tables as he played a fast-paced song.

“Yeah…” the girl muttered. She pushed her chair back, deep in thought, but none of the usual mischievousness on her face.

As she walked over to Jaskier, the bard was just finishing his song.

“Ciri!” he exclaimed loudly when he noticed the girl. “Oh, Cirilla! You look just splendid!”

The princess smiled.

“And I’m glad to see you’re not taking your fashion choices after Geralt,” Jaskier added with a wink.

Ciri nodded.

“Jaskier,” she started then, removing her crown from her head, but her voice wavered with hesitation. “Would you like it? The flower crown?”

The bard’s eyes widened.

“Me?”

“Yeah,” Ciri said with more confidence now. “Seems like your sort of thing. It’d look good on you, too.”

Jaskier nodded, still confused. He bowed his head a little so the girl could place the crown atop his brown curls.

“So how do I look?” he asked with a smile and received a round of applause from the inn’s guests, especially the young ladies and men.

“Remember, you’re the _humble bard_ ,” Ciri warned him teasingly and Geralt snorted.

"Oh, only in the song!" Jaskier laughed but his tone was sincere when he next spoke. “Thank you, Ciri."

He glanced at Geralt.

And the witcher felt as if it was the first time he’d noticed that wide, crooked grin of Jaskier’s, the wrinkles from smiling in the corners of his eyes, the beaming and the tears of happiness in those blue eyes.

Geralt shook his head. He’d noticed these before, of course he had. Still, something was different about Jaskier and the witcher knew it wasn’t just the crown of flowers on his head. It had to be more than that.

Geralt didn’t understand.


	6. market

"What about this one?" asked Geralt. The shirt he was holding was light pink and had red flowers embroidered on it.

Ciri pulled her mouth into a grimace.

The seller looked at them with outmost patience on her face and Jaskier turned his attention away, a bright yellow cloth catching his eye.

The market was busy and the chatter of the people was like sweet music to his ears. Sometimes he was worried, with Geralt usually avoiding such big crowds and the crowds often not taking a liking to him, but this town seemed to be a rather witcher-friendly one so far. The graviers Geralt had killed outside of town - as well as Jaskier's songs after that in the local inn - brought them a pretty amount of coin and they intended to spend it on the market. Well, Geralt said they should save it and just stack up food for the road but then he realised he had to buy herbs for his potions and oil for his sword and Jaskier had ran out of ink and he wanted a new songbook too and Ciri was in need of some new clothes.

Jaskier reached for the yellow textile. Oh, he could have a wonderful new doublet made from this!

Geralt didn't even ask Ciri the next time, he just lifted another shirt in her direction and raised an eyebrow questioningly. The girl simply shook her head.

The witcher was beginning to look desperate.

"Dear, would you like something simpler?" asked the seller from behind her desk, taking pity on Geralt. She showed Ciri the other end of the stall and began unfolding some simple white shirts.

Geralt sighed in relief.

"Hey, Geralt," Jaskier called out to him, half lifting up the newly-found cloth in front of his chest. "How does this look on me? It'd make a fine doublet, huh?"

"If your goal is to attract bees."

Jaskier was about to hand him a well-deserved comeback, but for that he first would have had to think of one. He was disturbed though, when Ciri snickered behind his back. She had a few shirts stacked up in her hands, as well as some simple pants and vests.

"Whatever," said Jaskier, realising how badly outnumbered he was. "I think it's pretty. I'm buying it."

Then he had an idea.

"Or…" he eyed Geralt with a smile. "You could buy it for me."

"Why would I buy it for you?" the witcher asked, deadpan.

"Well, you said all that coin was for buying clothes and Ciri's only choosing those cheap ones! Plus, I'd look fantastic in this!"

"It's for buying clothes for Ciri," Geralt said, shooting an exasperated look towards the seller. "We should save the coin."

"Pleeease, Geralt!"

"I'm not fucking buying you that, Jaskier," the witcher growled.

The bard gasped.

"Watch your language, Geralt of Rivia, there are children present," he said, putting his hands on his hips.

"Hey!" Ciri called out. Fair enough, it wasn't like she hadn't picked up quite a set of swear words even before she started travelling with them.

Then the clothes she'd chosen fell down on the ground.

It all happened in a split second.

Her face went pale and her eyes wide with fear, staring at something in the crowd of the market behind Geralt's back.

Jaskier turned to find what could have scared her and he spotted them soon enough. Men in black clothes, black armours. The star of Nilfgaard gracing their chests.

"Geralt," Jaskier tugged on the sleeve of the witcher's shirt.

"Jaskier, I'm not-"

"Geralt!" The bard's voice slipped higher with panic.

The witcher turned around and saw them too. And then, one of the Nilfgaardian soldiers shouted something to another, pointing a hand in their direction.

"Ciri," Geralt turned to the girl immediately. "Do you have your dagger?"

Ciri nodded. She tried to seem very brave.

"Good," Geralt put a hand on her shoulder. "Go back to the inn."

"What? No," the girl protested.

"Jaskier, get Ciri back to the inn." The look in Geralt's eyes left room to no arguments.

"Alright. Fine, fine, fine. Okay," Jaskier nodded, repeating the words more to calm himself than for anything else and grabbed Ciri's hand. "Come on, Ciri, back to the inn we go!"

"No!"

"Ciri, it's okay, just come on," the bard gently steered her away from Geralt. "It's okay."

He lead the girl away through the streets, while Geralt went to meet their pursuers in the market. Jaskier prayed to all the gods he could deal with them and he also prayed the townsfolk would have enough common sense to leave the market before things got especially bloody.

Jaskier and Ciri turned to the street leading back to the inn. Through the crowd of bodies in front of them, he saw the sun reflect on black armours.

He cursed under his breath.

"This way," he whispered to Ciri and turned around, slipping back in the crowd and hoping they weren't spotted.

But they were. Of course, they were. Such was Jaskier's luck these days.

The bard heard shouts from behind their backs. His steps grew faster, Ciri almost having to run to keep up with him. They walked by a woodworker's stall and Jaskier casually lifted an elegant, finely worked cane from the desk.

"In here," he said and pulled the girl into an empty alleyway.

They hurried through it, the group of Nilfgaardian soldiers behind them. The alleyway turned out to be a dead end.

"We're trapped," Ciri whispered. Her free hand gripped the hilt of her dagger so tight her knuckles were white.

"Yeah, I know, it's not exactly ideal," admitted Jaskier, trying to force some cheerfulness back in his voice and very much failing at it. "But we'll make do. Just stay behind me."

"We only want the girl!" The first of the soldiers called out. There was at least seven more men following him. "Hand her over and you are free to walk away!"

"I'm sorry but no chance for that, mister," Jaskier answered nonchalantly.

The Nilfgaardian didn't argue further, just charged.

Oh fuck, where was Geralt?

Jaskier slipped away from the way of the attacker's sword, spinned around and hit the back of the man's head with his cane. He fell to the ground and something cracked in his neck. Jaskier gulped.

"Look out!" Ciri called out. Jaskier turned around, but the girl had already jumped from behind his back, the blade of her dagger stabbed in the opening of the next soldier's greaves. The man cried out and doubled over in pain, unstable on his injured leg. Jaskier striked with the cane he'd stolen and the Nilfgaardian fell to the ground like a heavy sack.

"Hah!" Jaskier swung his cane triumphantly. "Take that!"

He barely registered the next coming attack. He stepped to the side, instinctively raising his weapon to his defence. The wooden cane was no match for the blade of a sword. It cracked and Jaskier felt a sharp pain in his arm.

He hissed in pain, backing away from the Nilfgaardian.

"Jaskier, you-" Ciri's voice was worried. Scared. Where was Geralt?

"It's okay, I'm fine," Jaskier said. "Ju-just stay behind me."

His arm was bleeding and _damn_ , he will need a new doublet if they get out of this alive. He scraped the first attacker's sword off the ground. He could barely lift it.

Two soldiers charged at the same time. Jaskier blocked one attack like he'd seen Geralt do so many times. And the next one. And the one after that. The next strike forced him to drop the sword and made Ciri scream.

The one after that… didn't happen.

A raging storm swept through the narrow alley.

Ciri was screaming.


	7. wanting

His steel blade sliced through the last of the Nilfgaardians and the man went down. No more attackers came, Geralt was left alone, kneeling on the ground with the townsfolk gathering around him. For an unguarded moment, he let his thoughts wander off to another marketplace covered in bloodstains years and years ago…

Then he heard the scream.

The silver pendant hanging around his neck was hopping up and down on its strap, sensing powerful magic.

Ciri-

Geralt jumped up, sprinting to follow the sound of the girl's scream. There must have been more Nilfgaardians. There must have been more.

Geralt rushed through the market, not caring that he pushed a few stalls over. But in a second, he had to come to an abrupt stop.

Which way?

Geralt cursed loudly. He chose a street on instinct and hoped he chose right. The screaming continued. There were more soldiers, of course there were, and he left Ciri and Jaskier alone with them.

And they were unarmed. All they had was Jaskier's bare fists, Ciri's dagger and her very incomplete training. And now the girl was screaming because they had been found and Geralt wasn't there and she was being taken like in her nightmares and Jaskier-

Jaskier was probably already dead.

And Geralt wasn't there.

The screaming stopped.

The witcher sped up his steps.

What were they doing to Ciri? Was her throat being slit in this very moment? Was she looking down at Jaskier's lifeless body lying on the ground?

Geralt forced himself to stop.

Stop and readjust his grip on his sword and listen.

He heard something, something that sounded like ragged breaths and too-fast heartbeats coming from a nearby alley.

He followed the sound and the smell of blood and magic still crackling in the air like electricity. And amongst the dust and debris and the dead men dressed in black, he saw something that made his heart skip a beat.

Ciri was kneeling on the ground with a very-much-alive Jaskier. The bard held her tightly, the girl shaking from exhaustion.

A warm feeling flushed over Geralt's chest.

Jaskier didn't notice him immediately, he was humming softly and kept running his fingers through Ciri's messy hair.

Just when Geralt drew in a breath too sharp, too loud, too relieved to see them both alive, he turned to him, eyes lighting up with relief.

"Ge-" he started but couldn't finish.

The witcher dropped down on his knees and pulled both Ciri and Jaskier into a tight embrace.

"Geralt, you're here," Ciri whispered with a trembling voice, her tear-smudged cheeks digging into his shirt. A tiny sob escaped her lips.

Geralt didn't count how long it lasted before he pulled back from the embrace. He wasn't sure if he did the right thing. But he also didn't know if this feeling of wrongness was about hugging Ciri and Jaskier or about letting go of them.

He hummed, deep in his throat. Jaskier looked at him expectantly, as if waiting for something but Geralt didn't know what.

"Let's go back to the inn," he said after many seconds of silence.

He lifted Ciri into his arms and waited until his bard scraped himself up from the ground as well.

Walking back through the market Geralt felt all eyes on them. But they weren't looking at him with fear or disgust. No, Geralt heard cheering. Nilfgaard had killed many since having arrived in the North and now their soldiers patrolled every city, raided peaceful townsfolk at the markets and kept the food and resources sparse. No one shed a tear for a few black-armoured thugs who met their ends by a witcher's sword after attacking him, that bard and that sweet little girl. Self-defense, that's all it was, the townsfolk said when they later recalled the story. As well as a big _fuck you_ to Nilfgaard.

Ciri fell asleep in Geralt's arms on the way back to the inn. He carried her up the stairs to their rented rooms and gently set her down on the bed.

"Rest, Ciri," he hummed although he knew she couldn't hear him in her sleep. "You were very brave."

As he straightened up after covering the girl with a blanket, he noticed Jaskier hanging in the doorway.

"Asleep?" the bard asked. He then backed away from the door as Geralt gently closed it.

Geralt nodded, watching Jaskier casually throw himself on his bed. Then, "Thank you for protecting her."

"Oh, I'd say it was the other way around, really," Jaskier waved with his left hand and _winced_ as if the sudden movement caused him pain.

"What is it?" Geralt asked immediately.

"What? Nothing!"

The witcher grabbed Jaskier's hand and turned his arm around gently to get a better look. There was a cut on his sleeve, dried blood ruining his jacket.

"You're hurt," Geralt said matter-of-factly.

"It's nothing," Jaskier insisted, even though it wasn't like him at all to downplay an injury. He complained about stubbed toes on the regular.

"I'll patch it up."

Geralt didn't wait for more of his protests, instead he brought a bowl of water and some clean bandage. Then he sank down on the bed next to his bard.

He took Jaskier's hand in his own again and began cleaning the wound. The cut wasn't that deep, it would heal in no time and Jaskier would be completely fine.

"I thought I lost you two, just then."

The words came out unexpectedly and the witcher had no way of stopping them. He cast down his eyes and focused on bandaging Jaskier's arm.

"It wasn't the first close call, Geralt." Jaskier shrugged.

"No but I was… I was afraid," the witcher admitted and he was grateful he had an excuse for not looking his friend in the eye.

"Of course you were," Jaskier said softly. "Ciri was in danger and she's kind of your daughter."

Geralt's hand stopped frozen in the air. Ciri… He wanted to keep Ciri safe, to protect her and teach her how to protect herself. For a while he thought that was all he could give to the girl. But it was more than that, much more.

He loved her and Jaskier was right, she was his daughter. Kind of. But _kind of_ was still more than he'd ever been Visenna's child.

Geralt nodded.

"Yes," he started slowly. It wasn't just about Ciri. "But I also meant you."

He looked up. From this close, he could see every shade of blue in Jaskier's eyes, he could hear the bard's heartbeat.

"Oh," said Jaskier.

Geralt wanted to say something else but he didn't know how to begin. He always took a long time choosing his words. Now there were many he should have said and he still found none.

Jaskier drew in a sharp breath, waiting for Geralt to say something.

And Geralt wanted to but his tongue was in knots and his mind couldn't make sense of it all. He wanted to say he considered him his friend. His best friend. In the whole wide world, like the bard had said once. He wanted to say he cared ab-

Jaskier's injured hand was still held by his, laid between them on the bed but the bard put his other one on Geralt's cheek, cupping the side of his face.

Then he leaned closer.

And kissed him.

It was a short, hasty kiss and then he pulled back. Geralt opened his eyes without knowing when he'd shut them in the first place.

Jaskier's cheeks were red. He swallowed, dropping his hand down from Geralt's face. He was about to pull his other hand free as well but the witcher squeezed it gently.

He understood now, all the things he didn't know, all the things that didn't make sense. He understood.

He kissed Jaskier, felt him lean into the kiss.

And Geralt understood.

**Author's Note:**

> and done!!  
> come chat with me on tumblr @afuckindelighttobearound and please toss a kudo to your writer


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